Elements
by sunshineofthespotlessmind
Summary: Just a random idea I had- Merlin's relationships with other people- Arthur, Freya, a good Morgana and the Knights of Camelot. Slashy in some parts if you're looking for it. Don't complain to me- you have been warned. Set before season 3.
1. Fire

Normally, Arthur wouldn't have dreamed of going into the woods without Merlin. He needed someone to carry his gear, to carry the prize home again if they were going hunting, and someone to talk to and annoy along the way. Not that he'd ever admit to the last part, or that somehow, it was only Merlin he wanted with him, but it didn't make it any less true.

But the fact remained that it was Merlin's day off, and according to Gaius, he had set off into the forest and first light and was, at present, nowhere to be found.

And his father had been cold at the council this morning and for some reason nothing Arthur did was right or good enough, and without the ignorant manservant he just couldn't see the funny side of it.

So now Arthur walked, in the middle of the woods, wandering without a clue as to where he was going, enjoying being alone. In Camelot there was always a servant, or a knight, or a commoner, or his father, till he felt he couldn't breathe or move for people who needed something from him.

The sunlight glowed through the leaves, dappling the path with golden flecks that glinted off his sword as he held it up. For a moment he just stood, admiring the patterns that shifted as the wind blew, and he smiled to himself.

He stopped when he came to a clearing ringed by dark pines. There was nothing remarkable about this rest stop or the clearing, he'd been walking for hours and was tired. Apart from the fact that in the middle of this particular clearing sat Merlin, facing him with a slight smile and a gaze that was far away. But this wasn't remarkable either; the thing that was remarkable was the azure flames the manservant held cradled gently in his hand, casting a deep, mysterious light on his face.

It wasn't a remarkable face. It was Merlin's face, a face Arthur had seen hundreds, thousands of times in every conceivable expression, and yet...

In the light it was different. It was ancient and wise and filled with secrets, secrets he could never hope to understand. They danced in his deep blue gaze and in the palm of his hand. And they were beautiful.

And part of his mind was screaming, _He's a sorcerer, he's a sorcerer, he's a liar, and evil and... _

_...And Merlin. _Because this _was _Merlin, there was no doubt about it, but it was a side he had never seen.

No, that wasn't quite right. He had seen this side of him before, three times, when he spoke of destiny and courage, when the bumbling servant would slip and the real Merlin shone through, a Merlin that was strangely... wise.

Something drew him slowly forwards. There was a peace here, a calm, a comforting silence, but Merlin's gaze whipped around at the snapping of a twig.

Eyes met, blue on blue, one strangely calm, the others suddenly filled with fear, weaving a spell without magic that trapped them both. Slowly, Arthur moved forwards till he stood before the terrified sorcerer, who sat, frozen in terror, unable to move or even look away.

Merlin watched him kneel, a thousand emotions flickering in his eyes as Arthur held out a hand in front of the flames.

"May I?"

Without breaking his gaze, Merlin held out his hands, depositing the flames in Arthur's waiting palm. A tingle ran up his arm and warmth pervaded his body, easing his muscles, and he relaxed, curling his fingers around the flickering magic. Almost protectively.

"It's... it's like a little heartbeat." He whispered, smiling slightly at his manservant. "I never expected that."

Merlin didn't reply, his eyes glowed briefly gold and another flame sprang up, a soft deep red that wrapped around the blue.

"Is it always like this?" he asked, and Merlin shook his head, knowing without being told what he meant.

"Not always." His voice was dry, but some of the fear had left his face. "Sometimes it's terrible. You... you feel like you might burst because you're holding so much inside you, like you might tear apart from the pressure of it." He paused, considering his words. "That's why I come here. I can let it all out and no one will see."

"And yet you come back." _Where you live in fear._

Merlin nodded.

"Why do you stay?" he asked, not looking at him. Somehow he was scared of the answer, scared that he would say _because it's my job, _or _because Gaius needs me to help him_.

"Because you need me." The answer was soft but adamant, and Arthur knew it was true. How many times had Merlin saved his life, and he'd never known...

"Will you tell?" The sound was soft, a tiny rush of breath filled with fear.

Arthur looked up into the warlocks face, wonder in his gaze. "And destroy something this beautiful?" He shook his head slowly. "Never."

The flames went out as he pulled Merlin to his feet, but he could still feel the warmth as Merlin's hand brushed his.

They walked back to the castle in silence, content with each other's thoughts.


	2. Wind

Morgana stood at the cliff edge, feeling the heavy fabric, tattered from her mad flight, swirl round her ankles, trapping her. Everything seemed to mock her; the soft green velvet of her gown, the gold at her wrist, the diamonds that glittered in the weak afternoon sun. Everything Uther had given her.

He had loved her. She had been his ward, even when she had discovered her true parenthood she had loved him, loved him as a daughter like she always had. Whenever she had looked at him, she saw her father and she knew he saw his daughter, even when they were so angry they wanted to throttle each other.

How would he look at her now?

_Witch. Sorcerer. Seer._

_Evil._

He didn't know, not yet, but how long could she lie? How long could she smile into those eyes, knowing that one day they would turn to stone, would condemn her for something she had wanted no part of?

She felt the tears gather and beat them back. Pendragons did not cry. Pendragons were not weak, they did not fear, they did not doubt. But she was, she was so weak, so very afraid, when she sat in the throne room beside her father and felt the magic stir, till she could not move for fear it would burst from her like water from a spring.

The sun sank below the sea, dazzling her with the gold and red it cast upon the clouds. The gold of her eyes when she used this... gift, this curse, whatever it was, the colour she had always been taught to associate with evil and traitors. Gold haunted her, mocked her, followed her even into her dreams till she could not escape it, till they taunted her night and day and she could focus on nothing.

The dreams, it was the dreams that were the worst of it. Arthur drowning, Camelot, burning, as a dragon soared overhead, belching flame. So many images, could be, would be, is, was, all jumbled till they lost all sense or meaning.

The wind had grown cold, raising goose bumps on her bared arms, crusted with salt from the crashing of the waves. The rocks below seemed to beckon, a perfect solution to everything.

She wondered what Gwen would say when they realised she was missing. What Arthur would do. Run headfirst out the castle in an attempt to find her most likely, and she smiled through the tears that fell freely now, that dripped onto her skirts. How was he going to survive without her there to manage him, to calm and console him when his courageous pigheadedness got the better of him? He had Merlin of course, there was always Merlin, but a manservant wasn't the same as a sister.

She did not turn when twigs broke behind her. Did not look when they moved to stand behind her.

"Morgana?" A voice she had not expected, but she did not turn.

"Merlin?" It was Merlin, Arthurs serving boy, who seemed somehow to always know what to do to make Arthur safe, to make everything alright.

But he couldn't fix this.

"Why are you here Morgana?" But the question did not sound like one. His tone was not confused, it was the tone of a parent, someone who already knew the answer.

What did it matter now anyway?

"Merlin..." she paused. Somehow she had to explain, had to relieve the terrible pressure building up in her head. "Merlin, have... have you ever had a secret that you had to keep?"

"Yes." He replied instantly, and she chuckled weakly. He had no idea.

"One that could harm someone, that could get someone killed?" Why was she bothering?

"Yes." He said again, and something in his voice made her turn, startled. "That's why we're here, isn't it?"

She stared. This was Merlin, and yet... it wasn't Merlin. The servant boy was gone, vanished as if he had never existed. It was a man who stared back at her now, a man, with eyes wise beyond his years, ancient sapphires filled with secrets unfathomable. Was this what Arthur saw when she caught him staring?

"I..." but the tears chocked her.

"Morgana..." he whispered, stepping towards her, and she backed away, off the cliff edge, till she stood on nothing but air. She could hear his silent words.

"No Merlin! I'm not going back! I can't!" she shrieked, the terror her voice carried away by the rising wind. "Look at me! I'm a witch, a magic user, I can't face him! I can't face any of them! I can't, I can't..." she ended on a whimper, collapsing on the air beneath her, held up by the magic.

An impossible hand brushed her face. "What if we did it together?" Came the gentle voice from above her. "Could you face him with me?" Warm arms wrapped around her, chasing away the chill, strength seeping into her bones as she buried her head in his chest and began to sob wordlessly, the fear of the past months rushing uncontrollably to the surface.

Merlin said nothing, supporting her wordlessly, rocking her back and forth like a child as the tears dripped down his neck.

After a long time she looked up. "How long?" she asked, hoarse with crying.

He understood. "All my life."

She clung to him, unwilling to move. "You know how it feels." It was not a question, and she felt him nod against her hair. "How did you know where I was?"

"I could feel it." He murmured. "I've felt it growing for weeks, but I didn't... I didn't know how to talk to you about it, how much you knew."

He lifted her gently, till they stood on solid ground once more.

"We should go back." She mumbled into his shirt, and he smiled gently, his heartbeat strong and comforting against her ear.

"Not for a little while."

"Merlin?" she said tentatively, wiping her eyes with her back of her hand.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."


	3. Water

He waited. He waited, as he had for three days, sitting by the edge of the lake and watching the clear water lap at his boots. He waited silently, without moving, without speaking, unmoved by the storms that so often boiled overhead. Waiting for her.

It was not till he cut himself on a stone that she came. As the thick red swirled amongst the blue, she emerged from the depths, pale and beautiful as the day she had died. Her hair was longer now, clinging to her slim frame as clear drops fell from the dark ringlets, casting ripples on the still water.

He dared not move as she drifted silently toward him, as unreachable now as when she had died in his arms. She was part of Magic now, and he would never hold her again.

She stood, waiting, still hip deep, but she smiled at him, the same smile he had once charmed out of her when she was afraid. And he knew he loved her.

But he another. Was it possible to love two at the same time? Could love stretch that far?

"Why do you seek me Merlin?" She asked, and her voice had not changed. Still soft, still gentle, but she seemed more at peace, no longer glancing over her shoulders, holding his gaze with a quiet confidence.

"I... wanted to make sure you were alright." He murmured, the wind carrying his words to her across the still surface. How could tell her... how could he being to explain what had brought him here?

Her eyes softened. "Is the sword safe?" She asked, willing to wait till he was ready.

He nodded. He had waited so long, had sat for days with every possible means of conversation, of confession, buzzing in his skull, but now she was here the words had left him, and he had no idea what to say. He hung his head. What would she think of him? Was he so faithless as to cast her aside so quickly?

Understanding softened her gentle features, and she moved towards him as he stared at his feet, unable to meet her gaze. She had to lift his head before he would look at her, confusion and guilt clear in the blue depths.

Tentatively, she ran a finger lightly down his cheek, but his eyes never left hers, begging her silently for a forgiveness she could not give. And how could she- he had committed no crime, had nothing indeed, to be sorry for. He loved another- she could not ask that he wait forever for her, that he waste his love on a woman bound to a place he could never go.

So her touch was gentle, as lake water dripped from her fingers onto his lips. Her eyes were kind, but sadness pervaded the depths of them.

"Does he make you happy?" she whispered, wishing she could hold him.

Merlin nodded, a tear spilling down his cheek, a casualty of his inner war. And she smiled gently.

"Good." She whispered. And she kissed him one last time, felt him relax beneath her lips as the tension drained out of him. She pulled away finally, and saw the sadness, an echo of her own. "Now go to him." she ordered, pulling away, knowing if she lingered she would pull him to her and ask him to stay, beg him to never let her go. And she couldn't do that. It wasn't fair.

She didn't watch as he stood; plunging back beneath the surface, back into Magic. It was a lake after all; what difference would tears make?


	4. Earth

Strength and constancy. Things that were, in theory, abundant in Camelot. In practice? Not so much. Sure, there were knights aplenty, who thought they were strong. And sure, when faced by rampaging monsters or an oncoming army, they were. But most of them... well, Merlin thought, most of them were snobs. Or, as Gwaine often said "They have their lances so far up their own asses they're chewing on splinters." And it was true. Give them a marauding beast and they were fine- they could be courageous and strong and could stand their ground no problem.

Give them a peasant with nothing to eat, or a beggar at the side of the road, and these knights were nowhere to be found, unless you counted the dust cloud as they strode past. Of course you could argue that it wasn't part of their jobs- they were there to defend the land, not coddle the lower classes. But that was entirely the point.

Defend the land. What, or more accurately _who_ did they think that was? Did they think that the bread and wine that they ate daily sprang into existence from vines and wheat that no-one needed to cultivate? Did the sheep and cows they found roasted on their plates leap from field to table with no assistance? Did the herds tend to themselves as farmers sat around? The earth needed people- without them, there _was_ no Camelot.

The number of knights (or people that should have been knights if a certain king wasn't an idiot) that Merlin respected could have been counted on the fingers of one hand. Lancelot, of course, fell easily into this list. No-one who met Lancelot, who still retained possession of his brain cells, could doubt the man was born to wield sword in defence of the realm. He was the only non-sorcerer he'd ever seen beat Arthur, and the man was just so _noble_. It made Merlin's teeth hurt, he was good to Gwen, the perfect lover (apparently- Merlin never stuck around for the details) honourable to the poor, respectful to others. The man seemed perfect .

Gwaine, however, could definitely not be said to be perfect. Chief among his flaws were his tendencies towards drinking, brawling and thieving. His wenching, however, seemed to have toned down somewhat since he had visited Camelot last spring, from what Merlin had heard anyway- whenever letters were delivered by courier, his notes made Morgana blush rosily for days afterwards .

Though he had never really spoken to the man, of the other knights officially serving, Sir Leon seemed to be the only with decent leanings. When Arthur had been about to kill his father, he'd trusted him enough to disobey his king, trusted him enough to let him into a private meeting. But Merlin stopped there.

That day still hurt. Arthur had apologised on numerous occasions, and he knew it wasn't Arthurs fault; after all, he'd been the one who'd lied to him about his birth, but somehow the memory still made his breath catch.

He hadn't known anything that could hurt that much.

_Magic and all who practice it are evil, I understand that now..._

Magic. Sometimes Merlin wondered if that was why Arthur was so different. He was Born of Magic, just like he was- did that explain the destiny that seemed determined to bind him to the man forever? (Not that he objected particularly, but it would have been nice to have been consulted on the matter.)

Of all the knights, Arthur was certainly the most complicated. Being Crown Prince was no picnic, he'd been with the man enough times when he'd been ordered to do something against his better judgement to see the anger he was so good at hiding. The pain when his father was berating him, which seemed more often than not. He knew Uther loved his son, but would it really kill the man to show it once in a while? Sometimes he wondered if Arthur even knew.

He was proud, there was no doubting that, proud and arrogant and thick headed and pretty much everything else that came from being treated as a living god since the day you were born. But if you ignored all that, and called him a prat on a regular basis, he grew on you. Yes he was arrogant and narcissistic, but that didn't stop him running off to save a subject, even when his father raged at him in his most quelling tones and commanded him not to go. It didn't stop him smiling and thanking servants, or from accepting commoners into the Knights of Camelot- well, if a certain King would hurry up and get off the throne. It didn't stop him blazing like a sun, surrounded by a light it seemed only Merlin could see as he dealt the death blow. Strong and stubborn and proud as the earth. The King was the King, but Arthur... Arthur _was_ Camelot. They were inseparable, stupid and brave and loyal and brilliant as he was.

Yes, Merlin thought as he caught the Crown Prince staring. That pretty much summed him up.


End file.
